


Hold On To Me (I'm A Little Unsteady)

by Firalla11



Series: Tumblr Fic [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Trade, The 15/16 CBJ Season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2019-10-08 13:04:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17386982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firalla11/pseuds/Firalla11
Summary: “What are you doing here?” Brandon asks, and Nick’s eyebrows rise.“Well, Iwashoping to see you while I was in town. Imagine my surprise when Foligno told me you’d already left.”





	Hold On To Me (I'm A Little Unsteady)

**Author's Note:**

> Original note: So CBJ is currently a tire-fire, and last night on twitter I mentioned writing sad Leddy/Saad/Shaw to go with it. L suggested it could be comfort cuddles instead, and proceeded to outline a little scene, which I adored. Then she gave me permission to write it out, so. I did!! :)
> 
> This is, I believe, set after CBJ lose to the Isles 4-0 on Oct 20th, the seventh game of their season opening losing streak... Yikes.
> 
> Title from ["Unsteady"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pFjryf8zH_M) by X Ambassadors.

Brandon lets his shoulders drop, head bowing when he finally gets out of the locker room, away from the media and the microphones and the cameras. Nick is here, somewhere, probably still in the visitor’s locker room, but he can’t make himself stay, can’t make himself wait.

He needs to get home, get away from the rink, try to forget the game somehow.

He knows he won’t be able to, losing streak heavy on his mind, but it’s a nice thought, nice to think of what it would be like not to have it hanging over him.

He _does_ have it hanging over him though, just like the rest of the team, and it’s exhausting, that constant sense of defeat, trying to ignore the nagging worry that they’re never going to get out of it, that loss after loss is all they’re going to know for the entire season. It leaves him in a bad mood, hard-pressed to smile, and that’s– not the kind of person he wants to be around Nick, not when they barely have any time together as it is, but he can’t help how he feels.

Maybe it’s for the best that he’d left the rink without seeing him, then, even though he aches for the opportunity lost.

Brandon leaves his suit crumpled on the floor in his room when he gets home. He’ll deal with it later – tomorrow, probably; sometime not now – and heads out to the living room, dressed in a pair of ratty sweats and a sweater he’s pretty sure is Nick’s. If he can’t have Nick he can have this, at least; it’s better than nothing.

He settles into the corner of the couch, sitting with his back against the armrest, feet up on the cushions. He doesn’t bother turning on the TV. He knows himself well enough to know he won’t be able to concentrate on whatever he puts on. He should still do it though, should still try, or try something else, _anything_ else. Something that will stop him from sitting here, stop him from thinking.

Brandon startles when his phone skitters on the coffee table, set to vibrate instead of ring. He reaches to shut if off without looking at the screen; the last thing he wants to do is _talk_ to someone. He’s tired of smiling for cameras, of saying they need to do better, that the next game _will_ be better. He’s tired of trying to reassure people. He doesn’t even know what to say to reassure _himself_.

He scrubs a hand over his face, then he just– leaves his head in his hands. He’s just– out of words, out of energy, out of everything he needs to–

He looks up at the sound of a key in his front door, confused. Fliggy is the only one of the guys who has a key, but he never uses it. He always rings the bell. The only other people Brandon has given keys to are Andy and–

Nick. Brandon swallows when Nick walks in, abandoning his jacket on the back of the armchair. “What are you doing here?” Brandon asks, and Nick’s eyebrows rise.

“Well, I _was_ hoping to see you while I was in town,” he says, dry. “Imagine my surprise when Foligno told me you’d already left.”

Brandon winces. He should’ve texted at least. Or something. “I’m sorry, I just– I needed to get out of there.” He bites his lip. “I’m not very good company right now.”

Nick shakes his head and comes closer, undoing the buttons on his cuffs and pushing the sleeves of his dress shirt up. “Shove over,” he says.

Brandon swallows and let’s himself be manhandled until they’re stretched the length of the couch, Nick at his back, warm and solid, his arm over Brandon’s waist.

Brandon lets out a long breath and tries to relax. It’s been so long since he’s had this, so long until he’s going to have it again. He just wants to enjoy it, to take the offered comfort, but he can’t, can’t stop going over plays in his head, can’t stop thinking about missed chances long enough to enjoy _anything._

There’s a rustle, then he hears Nick say, “You’re on speaker,” then Andy’s voice fills the room, and against all odds, Brandon feels himself start to smile.

“I tried calling earlier,” Andy says, after they get greetings out of the way. “But you didn’t pick up?”

Brandon sighs. Of course he’d ignored one of the only people he’d actually have been willing to talk to. “Sorry, I wasn’t– I didn’t check who was calling.”

“Someone was having a pity party,” Nick says, and Brandon stiffens, stung and frustrated, and not in the mood for jokes.

“Fuck off,” he says. “It’s not– it’s not _funny_ , Nick. We can’t win a game. Can’t keep pucks out of our net, can’t score goals, can’t fucking put a solid sixty together, and I’m not– I’m not helping, and it wasn’t supposed to _be like this.”_

There’s a long pause, then Nick presses his lips to the nape of Brandon’s neck. “It’s not your fault,” he says.

“Isn’t it?” Brandon asks. “Win as a team, lose as a team, right? At least we’re halfway there.”

Andy gives a frustrated sound, even as Nick’s arm tightens around him. “I wish I was there.”

“I wish you were too,” Brandon says, “but you aren’t, so.” He squeezes his eyes shut as soon as the words leave his mouth. Andy would be here if he could be. And he _knows_ how much it’s hurting Andy to not be able to see him or Nick very often for the rest of the season. Or at all, really. The schedule hadn’t worked out in his favour. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Andy says, but his tone isn’t as bright as it was.

God, he’s the _worst_. All Andy had done was try to cheer him up, and he’d just– “No, Andy, hey. I really am. We’re going to figure it out.”

They haven’t planned their holidays yet, and they really need to, if only to give them all something to look forward to.

“So will you,” Andy says, and Brandon knows he’s not talking about seeing them anymore.

“I hope so.”

He heaves a sigh, but he grins a little when Andy starts up a steady stream of chatter, talking about nothing important while Brandon takes in the rise and fall of Nick’s chest against his back. It’s nice, really nice. If he closes his eyes he can almost pretend Andy’s there with them. Almost, because if he _was_ there he’d be pressed to Brandon’s front, and it’s harder to imagine that, no matter how often it happened before the season started.

He breaks in when Andy takes a breath, squeezing Nick’s hand. He doesn’t _want_ to know, but he needs to, needs to know how much time he and Nick have. “Don’t you have a plane to catch?”

“Not ‘til tomorrow,” Nick says, then he pauses. “We, uh, have the day off.” _Because they’d had a good game_ , he doesn’t say, but he doesn’t need to say it for Brandon to understand.

He appreciates the thought. And he appreciates what else Nick isn’t saying even more. “That mean you’re staying?”

“That’s the plan,” he says lightly. “If you’re okay with it?”

Brandon turns to face him. “If I’m– of course I’m– c’mon. We’re going to bed.”

Nick laughs as Brandon gets to his feet, but he lets Brandon tug him up, snagging his phone off the arm of the couch.

He tugs his sweater off and gets into bed, waiting for Nick to grab a shirt from one of his drawers. He picks up Nick’s phone again while he waits, curious, and checks the screen. Andy’s been quiet since they got in here, but yeah, the call’s still connected. Maybe he fell asleep?

“You still there, babe?” Brandon asks.

Andy’s reply is immediate. “Yeah, I’m still here. Are you still there?”

Brandon snorts. “We’re still here. Nick just got into bed,” he adds, twisting a little, letting Nick’s arm settle around his shoulders.

“Show me?” Andy asks, and his voice is small, softer than Brandon’s used to. He grabs Nick’s hand and squeezes. Nick shoots him a tiny, understanding smile, then takes his phone back, thumbing to his camera app.

“Sure,” Brandon says belatedly, realizing Andy can’t see them, doesn’t know if they’re going to do it, then he leans in so they’re both in the frame, matching Nick’s crooked smile with one of his own.

Nick tilts the screen after he takes the picture, so Brandon can see; it’s not terrible, all things considered. He looks exhausted, but Nick is there, smiling, and that makes up for a lot.

“Okay?” he asks, and Brandon nods.

Nick fiddles with his phone, and Brandon’s buzzes a few seconds later. He smiles, appreciating that Nick sent it to him too.

Andy laughs then, but the sound is just as small. “Wow,” he says. “I really miss you guys.” He pauses, and Nick’s hand tightens in Brandon’s. “Uh, we can just–”

“We miss you too, yeah?” Nick says.

“I know,” Andy says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

Brandon frowns. Andy missing them isn’t a secret, but, “You know you don’t have to hide anything from us, right?”

“I know,” Andy says again. “But I…” _Don’t like making you sad_ , Brandon finishes. That isn’t a secret either.

“I’d rather you tell us,” Nick says.

“Me too,” Brandon adds, and they slip into silence. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s not happy, either.

Then Nick shifts, sinking a little further down the bed, pulling Brandon with him until they’re nearly horizontal, instead of leaning against the pillows. When he speaks his voice is noticeably lighter. “Hey,” he says. “What happened  to ‘picture for a picture,’ huh? Where’s ours?”

Andy gives a surprised laugh. “What? Oh, one sec.”

It’s a thing they started when Nick moved to New York, a way to be part of each other’s days when they didn’t have time for anything more, a way to share moments when words were too hard. Sometimes pictures were just– easier.

And it was nice to be able to see what Nick was doing, see whether he was home by himself or out with his new team, see what he was getting up to even though they couldn’t be there. It’s still nice, really. He’s glad they kept it up.

Andy’s message comes through a few seconds later. Brandon watches the screen intently as Nick opens it. Andy’s in bed, lying on his side, blankets pulled up to his chin. His hair is long enough that it’s falling into his face, just a little. He wonders how long Andy’s going to let it grow.

“Hair getting in the way yet?” Nick asks, apparently following Brandon’s train of thought.

“Sometimes,” Andy admits. “I like it though. And you got to have sadness beards, so.”

Brandon rolls his eyes. “That’s not–”

“What it was,” Andy finishes. “Yeah, yeah. I know. You’ve said.”

“It’s not like you didn’t enjoy it,” Brandon says, and he grins when Andy sputters, then goes tellingly quiet, Nick laughing at his back.

The ensuing silence is better this time, a little calmer, a little happier. If he strains, he thinks he can just make out the sound of Andy breathing through the speaker, and that’s– nice too. He’s missed having them both in his bed, maybe more than he expected to when they separated for the season.

He and Nick shift again, until Nick is spooned up behind him, breath warm against his neck, the bare skin of his back, just Nick’s thin t-shirt between them.

“I better go,” Andy says, eventually, and Brandon blinks his eyes open, unsure when he closed them, caught up in listening to Andy and Nick breathe. “I’m falling asleep here.”

“Same,” Nick says, and his voice is a low rumble.

Brandon– isn’t, not anymore, but he’s not going to keep Andy awake. “‘Night,” Brandon says, and he smiles when Andy and Nick murmur goodnights of their own, then Nick picks up his phone and reaches behind him to put it on the nightstand.

He resettles against Brandon after that, pulling him closer, calf slipping between one of Brandon’s, arm over Brandon’s side, hand resting against his chest, holding them together, as if Brandon would ever try to get away.

He leans into Nick’s touch, trying to focus on that, on Nick breathing against him, now that it’s silent again, now that there’s nothing else to distract him, nothing he’s straining to hear.

He relaxes slowly, but as he does, his mind slips back into replaying missed chances, shots he couldn’t make, and suddenly he’s not relaxed at all.

Nick sighs, nosing at the nape of his neck. “You need to stop thinking about it.”

Brandon grimaces. “Believe me, I’ve tried. I am trying. I just– can’t.”

Nick hums, then he shifts, moving away from Brandon’s back and pulling at Brandon’s shoulder. “Roll over.”

Brandon does, question on his lips, then he feels Nick’s lips on his cheek, the prickle–rub of Nick’s beard against his skin, and he smiles before settling his hand in Nick’s hair. As far as distractions go it’s a good one, but, “I’m not really in the mood for, uh, that.”

He’s too exhausted, too stressed, too _frustrated_ to really be into much more than what they’re doing.

Nick laughs softly. “We don’t have to do more than make out if you don’t want to, Brandon. Or we can go back to cuddling. Or we can do something else. Whatever you think would help you relax. Totally up to you.”

Brandon hesitates. The more he thinks about it, the more making out sounds like the perfect way to distract him, even if it won’t go anywhere. He’s not going to have Nick in his arms for a while after this. He should enjoy the chance while he has it.

“C’mere,” he says, tugging a little, and Nick settles on top of him, smiling.

Brandon’s still got a hand in his hair. He guides Nick’s mouth to his again, enjoys the slip-slide of Nick’s lip against his own for long minutes, Nick’s body warm and familiar against his, until he has to break the kiss to yawn.

Nick laughs, low, body shaking with it. “Sorry,” he says. “Am I boring you?”

“Never,” Brandon admits, maybe too honest.

He blushes, and Nick’s smile gentles. “Ready to sleep now?” he murmurs.

Brandon hesitates. His eyes feel heavy, finally, his mind quiet, but Nick’s hard against his hip. “You want…?” he asks, sliding his hand down Nick’s back a little, just enough to make it clear what he’s asking.

Nick shakes his head. “That’s okay.”

He rolls off Brandon and Brandon turns with him, until Nick’s on his back and Brandon’s half on his side, half on his front, facing Nick. Brandon bites his lip, then he moves a little further down the bed, until his head is resting on Nick’s chest.

Nick’s hand comes up to card through his hair. Brandon sighs, letting his eyes slip shut. Nick’s voice is a far away rumble when he says, “Go to sleep, B. I’ll still be here in the morning.”

Brandon thinks he nods, but he’s not sure. He knows he tightens his grip on Nick, though, and he doesn’t miss Nick’s whispered, “Yeah, I love you too.”


End file.
